


Size Matters

by TourmalineQueen



Category: Coupling (UK)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve rants about women and shopping, Susan goes on a diet, and the gang all contemplate whether or not size is as important as everyone claims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Size Matters

**Disclaimer:** Coupling and the characters only belong to me in the sense that they are on DVD. Hartswood Studios are the real proprietors.  
*-*-*

"Women are weird people, aren't they?" Steve Taylor asked as he made his way down the steps of his favourite bar.

Patrick Maitland and Jeff Murdock made grunting sounds of agreement and/or approval of Steve's remark.

"I mean, what is it with them and clothes? It's like a sado-masochistic love-hate relationship between women and clothes, when really, clothes are just things you wear so you look good when you're not naked. Right?"

"Right," Jeff and Patrick chorused.

"Although," Jeff added thoughtfully, "I sometimes wonder if there weren't any clothes, how we'd know when it was time for sex. Like in nudist colonies, how they don't turn into proper orgies is beyond me. I mean the women are all naked. And so are the men. And men, as we all know, being men ourselves, can’t be trusted around naked women."

"Good point," said Patrick. "Issues of control and clothing can be tricky."

Steve ignored this exchange, as he usually did when his friends went a bit off-topic.

The three men got their drinks: Patrick had his usual Guinness, of which drink Steve decided to partake, too, as this was turning into a **Serious Conversation**. Jeff went for a lager. Steve sat down on the couch and began scoffing peanuts like a man expecting a famine.

"Are you alright, Steve?" Patrick asked.

Steve froze as he realised what he must look like.

"Thowwy," he said sheepishly, around a mouth full of salty snacks. He swallowed and took a sip of his drink. " ** _We_** are on a diet."

The "we" had a distinctly forced air about it. Jeff and Patrick winced in unison.

"No man should **ever** go on a diet unless he expressly wishes it," said Patrick sagely.

"Except Johnny Vegas," said Jeff. "He could stand to lose a couple of pounds."

Steve and Patrick made noises of agreement.

"What bothers me isn't so much the diet, as the fact that Susan thinks she needs one," said Steve, puzzlement colouring his voice as he pointed at an imaginary Susan. "I mean, really, look at her: she's gorgeous. Beautiful blonde hair, nice eyes, brilliant smile, sexy legs, great ankles-"

All three closed their eyes and smiled as they contemplated Susan's ankles. Steve still had his finger pointing in the air.

"I do like a well-turned ankle," admitted Jeff, nodding sagely.

"And don't forget Susan's right breast and her peachy little arse," Patrick added.

Steve's expression became stony.

"Patrick, that peachy little arse belongs to **_my_** girlfriend. Please tell me you did not just letch on **_my_** girlfriend and her arse. **_I'm_** the only one allowed to contemplate her arse."

"She's my _ex_ -girlfriend, and ex-boyfriends are allowed to letch on their exes. It's in the rules."

Steve knew he couldn't win; it _was_ in the rules that exes were allowed to letch. He did it about Jane, sometimes. When Susan wasn't around to get offended. And, anyway, Susan's arse really was nice and peachy.

"Women are weird about clothes, though," he said, backtracking slightly in order to make his original point. "I mean, you'd think buying clothes was as important as buying cars the way women go on about it. Clothes Shopping's scarier and more physically dangerous than rugby."

*** *** *** ***

"Why do men hate shopping so much?" Susan asked as she arrived at the wine bar, slightly later than Sally and Jane.

"Is that why you're late this time?" Sally asked archly, looking in vain for carrier bags to inspect.

"Indirectly," she said as she filled a glass with the house white. "I took the morning off work to update my wardrobe, and I had to stay in the office late this evening."

"And Steve went shopping with you?"

"Under duress."

"Wasn’t that a bit provocative?" Jane asked in a thinly veiled attempt to catch Sally and Susan's attention.

“Provocative?”

“Making him wear a condom like that.”

"Dur _ess_ , not Durex, Jane. He didn't want to go shopping."

*-*-*

"I don't hate shopping, Susan, I hate shopping with women!"

Steve and Susan were arguing their way 'round the high street stores of London; by the time they had reached Topshop, Steve's voice had gone up an entire octave.

"Oh, so you hate spending time with me?" Susan's response sounded ominous.

"But I'm **not** spending time with you, I'm spending time with your masochistic, short-tempered, emotional evil twin! You always pick things that are the wrong shape or size and wind up annoyed that they don't fit you! Your happiness seems to hinge on _conforming_ to being some miniscule size, just so you can say you’re thinner than someone else, and that's just not right! You think the shops care what the label says, but they don't! All the stores cut their clothes differently, so you're not the same size in all of them. And you get mad and angry and sad and depressed and, and, and …  
I mean, **God for _bid_** Susan Walker might need to buy a blouse a size larger; it's the first sign of the impending Apocalypse!  
Susan, listen to me, when designers make their clothes, they make them to fit a mannequin, not a human being. Why else do you think all the supermodels look exactly the same? And why they are all the unnatural shape of the dummies from shops? It's because clothes are not made to fit real women! It's a bloody conspiracy! And you don't seem to understand that!  
So no, Susan, to answer your question, I do not enjoy shopping with you, or any other female, because you take it all _far_ **too** _**seriously!**_ "

"Would you like to go browsing in Virgin Megastore for a while?" Susan asked with exaggerated patience.

"Yes please," Steve muttered, deflated.

"Can you come back in an hour? I'll need your opinion."

Steve decided the whole "Men are incapable of having opinions" argument was a bit unnecessary. It was just an excuse to get him to carry all the bags, anyway. He agreed and left Topshop.

*** *** *** ***

"She knows I can't have opinions on clothes, so I know and she knows that all she wants is to be told she's pretty, and for me to carry all the stuff. Which is all fine and well, I’m a bloke, I’m strong, I can do that. I think, hopefully, that maybe that'll be the last of the shopping, but no. It never is.”

“So what happened next?” Jeff asked.

“I came back and she was in the changing cubicle in her underwear…" Steve trailed off as he drained his glass and opened a packet of crisps.

"Excellent! Nice one Steve, shop sex is the best kind of sex ever invented," grinned Patrick as he pumped his fists.

"Nah, she wasn't in the mood for sex, she was crying."

"Crying? Why? Was it the masochistic evil twin thing?" Jeff asked.

"Time of the month?" Patrick suggested.

"No, neither; she ignores my ranting, mostly; and she was out shopping, so it couldn't be that time of the month. I figure," Steve twisted his mouth in a facial shrug, "she's stubbed her toe. That'd make anyone cry in public."

"What did you do?"

"What else could I do? I went into the cubicle and gave her a cuddle."

"That's not really the best medical treatment for a stubbed toe, though, is it, Steve? What did you do next, offer to kiss it better?" Patrick didn't even pretend he wasn't vastly amused by Steve's solution to the problem.

" _No_! Of course I didn’t!"

*-*-*

"Would you like me to kiss it better? Susan?"

His girlfriend shook her head and turned away. "Go away, Steve."

He backed out and pulled the curtain closed behind him.

*** *** *** ***

"You mean he _actually_ left you? Alone? And _**crying**_?" Sally asked, aghast.

"He was back in two minutes with a box of tissues and a warm robe so I could cry and not get chilled," said Susan smugly.

"Aww!" Jane cooed, before noting with some jealousy, "he never did that for _me_!"

"Well, did you ever go shopping together?"

"Yes, but it always ended in sex in the changing rooms. We're still not allowed into the House of Fraser store in Knightsbridge!"

"Well, that explains his reluctance to accompany me to Knightsbridge, then," said Susan sourly.

"Oops, sorry," giggled Jane.

Sally glared at Jane, and turned to Susan.

"Get back to the important stuff: what size were you trying on that didn't fit?"

"Oh, no, Sally; not a chance. I'm not telling you that little detail. I'd have to kill you if you found out."

Sally rolled her eyes and poured more wine for all three of them.

"So what happened after Steve got the robe and tissues?"

*-*-*

"Err … err … erm, ah, Susan? What's wrong?" Steve used a small, coaxing voice.

Steve was a man who did not like seeing his girlfriend upset or tearful. He never knew what to do to make it better. And it was almost invariably his fault in the first place. He sat on the stool the shop provided and pulled Susan onto his lap.

"That silly blouse, and that stupid dress," Susan sobbed, pointing to a heap of patterned silk lying on the floor. "Don't fit! In any size! Because I'm too fat!"

"Too fat? But you're not fat at all," Steve said, confused.

"Y-yes I am! I'm ugly and fat and, and, and - Cellulitey!"

"Cellulite? What are you bothered about that for?" Steve felt as though he was missing some very important detail.

"It's horrible and ugly and … and I can't get rid of it!" Susan's tears renewed.

"I don't understand," said Steve.

Susan glared at him, stood up and hiked up her robe to show Steve her orange-peel thigh. Steve stroked her skin for a bit and his gaze became distant. He was getting slightly aroused.

"Steve! Pay attention!” Susan admonished. “It's cellulite! It's disgusting!"

"Susan," Steve prefaced.

"What," she asked sulkily.

"I don't see cellulite. I see my girlfriend's naked thighs, which lead down to her knees, which are attached to her calves, which are connected to - Oh! Your ankles," said Steve, with a hint of hopefulness colouring his appreciation of her legs. "And going up, I see my favourite part of you is right in between these gorgeous thighs, and turning you 'round, ah, yes. Your arse. You have a beautiful," he said, placing a kiss in the small of her back, "peachy," he continued, squeezing for effect, "arse. I think it's excellent."

He smiled at her in the mirror.

"You really don't think I'm fat?" Susan's voice shook slightly; she really wanted to believe him, but still felt horribly insecure.

"No,” said Steve. Then, realising Susan probably wanted a more detailed explanation he continued. “I think … I think that you're beautiful, and that dress is not a right expression of your body shape. I much prefer nudity, myself. Your nudity, that is, not mine."

Susan sat back down on Steve's lap, brushed his bangs out of his eyes and kissed him.

“I don’t know about that. Your nudity has its charms…”

*** *** *** ***

"And I'm not telling you any more than that. Except that Susan and I are banned from Topshop in Mayfair," said Steve smugly.

"Nice one," said Patrick in open admiration.

"Yeah," agreed Steve. "Think I'll have to take Susan shopping more often, though, so not quite the total victory I was hoping for."

"True," said Jeff. "But at least you know now that you can have sex with her **before** you put your clothes **on** , as well as **after** you take them **off**. It's of vital importance for men to know these things, so you don't wind up with timetable difficulties, and an erection with no girlfriend to deal with it."

"Yes, thank you Jeff, that will be all," said Steve. Cutting Jeff off before he got into his stride was of the utmost importance with Susan, Sally and coming within earshot.

"There's my Hero," said Susan, smiling coyly.

"Mm-hmm, hi," Steve mumbled as he hid the evidence of his snacks.

Sally and Jane draped themselves in the free seats, while Steve pulled Susan onto his knee.

"I hope you haven't been snacking, Steve. We're supposed to be dieting together," said Susan with a vaguely threatening note in her voice.

After a moment's prickling pause Steve began to blurt out denials.

"No, nope, not at all, of course I haven't, I'm supporting you, why would you think I would?"

He then laughed awkwardly, silently cursing Jeff for telling Susan about this indicator of falsehood. Susan glared at him.

" _ **I**_ don't think you need to lose weight, Steve," said Jane ingratiatingly.

"Well, thank you for that endorsement, Jane, but I don't think a woman who eats half the food on my plate because "it doesn't have calories if I don't order it" is going to give me an unbiased opinion," said Steve, mimicking his ex precisely.

"Well, what about me? I'm not your ex; and you were honest about my appearance - before. And **I** think you're a fine figure of a man," said Sally.

"I'm not telling you anything about Susan's dress size," said Steve flatly.

Sally pouted and Jane sulked, while Susan thanked Steve for his loyalty and remonstrated with him for eating crisps and peanuts while she stinted herself.

"Can I ask something?" Jeff piped up.

"No," said Steve.

"No," said Susan.

"You're women, maybe you can answer this. You all say that size doesn't matter, but you get utterly hung up on dress sizes. We're getting conflicting messages here. Should we be more worried about our penises or your dresses? Or equally about both, or neither?"

"Tree falling in the woods, isn't it?" Patrick asked.

"How do you mean?" Steve asked warily.

"It's like a puzzle nobody can solve. That nobody should care about but everybody does."

"That's … surprisingly deep, Patrick. I'm impressed," said Steve, tapping his nose and pointing at his friend.

"Actually, most men have penises that are big enough to satisfy women, and it's only those with severely diminutive dicks that ask us to insist that size is unimportant," said Jane, glaring pointedly at Steve.

Steve looked like he wanted to retaliate, but couldn't find a retort. He wrapped his arms around Susan.

"Help me?" Steve begged.

"On the condition that you support me in this diet."

"I promise."

"Jane?" Susan asked in mock sweet tones.

"Yes, Susan?" Jane responded in the same insincere tone of voice.

"Steve left you to be with me. He doesn't care what you think of him or the size of his cock. Come on, sweetheart, let's go home."

Steve and Susan left the bar, Steve not entirely sure how helpful Susan had actually been. Jane glared after them. Patrick turned to Sally.

"Is it true, what Jane said? That size only matters if it's too small?"

"Give me a go on yours and I'll tell you," said the more than slightly tipsy Sally.

"Um … Not tonight, thanks, Sally. I, uh, I think I can live with the curiosity."

*** *** *** ***

The next morning Steve and Susan were sitting at the breakfast table. Steve was reading the morning paper in his bathrobe and Susan was getting ready to go to work. She turned on the radio just in time to hear Jane end her report.

"And so motorists should avoid that route if at all possible. Before I hand back to the studio I'd just like to wish Steve and Susan all the best and I hope she doesn't mind his very small problem."

*-*-*


End file.
